Angel Hair And Baby's Breath
by cityofmist
Summary: 'I'm going to make the world better. I told you, Dean, but you didn't believe. I did this for you. To save people. Do you believe me now'


The silence stretches out, spread thinner and thinner without breaking, as Castiel smiles and waits for his friends to kneel at his feet. After a certain length of time, somewhere between a second and an eternity, he can't place it, Sam is aware that he is looking to Dean.

'Cas,' Dean says quietly, a world of pleading in his tone. 'Cas, if you…'

Castiel tilts his head in the familiar gesture that Sam was used to, once. 'Yes, Dean?' he says serenely.

Sam watches, frozen, as his brother's mouth opens and closes soundlessly for a few seconds, and then something breaks in Dean's eyes and slowly, painfully, he drops to his knees.

Castiel smiles at Dean, that exultant, transcendent smile that doesn't belong on a human face, and reaches out; he lays his hand on Dean's forehead like a benediction, and they are still for a moment, frozen in tableau. They look like a painting, like some twisted translation of a Renaissance masterwork, all those scenes of Jesus and Mary and the angels that the masters used to paint in homage to their God. Sam can see the lines of the tendons in Dean's throat, the muscles clenched in his arms, as he surrenders to his friend's insanity.

'Thank you, Dean,' Castiel says, almost graciously, and then slowly, inexorably, he turns to face Sam.

Castiel's eyes are the same colour and shape and size as they used to be, as Jimmy Novak's were, but Sam looks into them and sees chaos and screaming light caught behind the cerulean blue, an odd sense of depth, as if Castiel has a whole world contained within him now, those millions of souls trapped inside Castiel inside Jimmy Novak's body, like Russian dolls. It's strange how fast, and how pointlessly, you can think when you're petrified by bone-deep terror.

Sam grits his teeth and kneels; he hears Bobby follow suit behind him. He looks up at Castiel, standing tall and indomitable above him like the god he thinks to be. Castiel does not touch him. This does not surprise Sam, when he thinks about it. He doesn't know whether it's because Castiel raised Dean from Hell long before he had ever thought to save Sam, or because when they first met Dean was the Righteous Man and Sam was an abomination, or because Dean was the one who dragged him from Heaven and taught him to be human, but to Castiel, Dean has always been special.

But Castiel meets Sam's eyes and that unshakeable smile widens slightly. 'You will both be rewarded,' he promises. 'You'll be rewarded for your loyalty.' There's a faint curl of sarcasm on the last word, and Sam feels guilt shooting in his chest. He can still feel Castiel's flesh giving way beneath the angel blade, and the lurch in his stomach at the second he realised it hadn't worked. Castiel gazes at Sam with calm eyes, and Sam knows he remembers it too. 'But for now,' Castiel continues, 'I will need to speak to your brother alone.'

Dean's face spasms into an expression of horror, behind Castiel where he can't see (or, hell, maybe he can) and Bobby says hesitantly, 'Cas, we'd - '

Castiel's face is _almost _impassive, but there's a faint hint of satisfaction there, petty revenge, as he snaps his fingers, and Bobby is abruptly cut off as the world lurches away.

* * *

><p>'Where are they?' The words are dragged from Dean's throat on reflex before he can think, and remember that he's talking to a walking nuke. Shit.<p>

'They're fine,' Castiel says calmly. 'They're at Bobby's house.' Dean remembers when he first met Castiel, _your friend is alive_, perfunctory reassurance as though he wanted to humour Dean but couldn't imagine why he would care in the first place. Dean wants to ask again, say, _How do I know_, or _I don't care, bring them back_. He doesn't. He's been called reckless, but even he has limits.

'What'd you want to talk to me about, Cas?' he says instead.

'I want to tell you,' Castiel says. His voice isn't as low as it usually is, Dean notices; it almost reminds him of the way Jimmy Novak's sounded, when he listened to Sam and Dean's talk of demons and laughed in their faces. 'Dean, it's wonderful, I _wish _I could tell you what it feels like, but there…there are no words, to describe this.' He sighs, genuinely regretful. 'I'm so sorry.'

'It's okay, Cas,' Dean says, in the kind of tone he would use to calm a skittish animal. A skittish animal with claws, and fangs, and maybe some kind of instant death venom. 'I don't mind.' He forces a smile.

Castiel shakes his head, turning slightly to glance around the room as though he's searching for answers. 'Oh,' he says, a short breath of frustration, 'you think you don't mind but you would, if you knew. I wish you could _understand_.'

Dean swallows. 'I'm sorry, man.'

'Of course, I could show you,' Castiel murmurs, reaching out, brushing his fingers lightly over Dean's forehead. 'But I think…I'm afraid it would obliterate you. A human mind is not designed to comprehend such…' He sighs. 'Dean, the _awareness_! I can feel the world, I can feel _everything_. There are new stars coalescing from gas and dust in what you'd call the Eagle nebula, and I'm there. There are a thousand supernovae lighting up space, billions on billions of miles away, and I'm there.' He smiles with a warm, triumphant joy that fills his voice, turns away from Dean again, still murmuring to himself. 'Split a piece of wood, and I am there. Lift up a stone, and you will find _me_ there.'

Dean pauses. Shit, he's so far out of his depth right now; if Castiel gets any crazier than he already is, the world's going to end in flames, he just _knows _it, and soon. He coughs quietly. 'Cas?'

Castiel turns to face Dean again, reaches out to touch him; his fingers meet Dean's jawline and Dean almost starts at how hot they are. Castiel is burning up, either with too much power or just with sheer insanity, which at the moment does not seem beyond the realms of possibility. 'But most of all,' Castiel murmurs, with his clear blue eyes full of untold delight and totally devoid of understanding, 'I'm here.'

'Yeah, Cas,' Dean agrees, because he can't think of anything else safe. 'I'm glad.'

'Oh,' Castiel says absently, 'but that's not why I wanted to talk to you.'

'Shoot,' Dean says. 'Anything you want, Cas.' The words sound hollow before they even leave his mouth. Is this going to be his future? Placating a madman with the world in his hands; keeping him calm, keeping him happy so he doesn't decide to drop it and find a new toy?

'You doubted me,' Castiel says simply. 'You worked _against _me, Dean. You would have stood back and watched _Raphael_ destroy me.' He gives a little condescending huff of breath after the name, as if to suggest that if anyone gets to destroy him, Raphael doesn't make the cut. 'I asked you to have faith in me, Dean; you refused.'

'I'm sorry, man. I…made a mistake. I didn't know.' Dean can't do the fake expression right now, so he drops the pretence, lets the fear and guilt wash over his face and hopes it looks enough like regret.

'I'm prepared to forgive you,' Castiel informs him. The smile is back, the insanely creepy one; Dean can feel it like a cold breath on his spine. 'You weren't always a good friend, but we _were_ friends, and I won't forget that.'

Dean waits. Maybe he should say _Thank you_, or something; _Thank you for your mercy, O Lord. _Maybe that's what Castiel wants. Maybe he should just suck it up and do whatever he's supposed to, in the interests of not getting fried.

'You still have doubts,' Castiel says quietly. 'After everything, you _still _doubt me. You think I can't see it.'

Dean smiles awkwardly. 'I'm sorry, man, you know me, faith's not really my thing…I'm sorry, Cas. I'm really sorry.'

'I want you to be happy,' Castiel says gently. 'I mean it, Dean. I want to be better. I'll make the world better.'

'I believe you,' Dean says, although the last time he heard that line it was the fucking Apocalypse.

Castiel tilts his head, looks at Dean, and smiles. It's almost, but not quite, the smile he used to have. 'I'll be back in two or three days,' he says. 'You go join Sam and Bobby. Your car is outside. It's in perfect condition.' And then Dean is alone in the empty concrete space, his head spinning with everything that just happened.

Eventually he shakes himself off, goes outside, and apparently Castiel wasn't lying. _O Lord, heal this car_. So this is his reward: a slap on the wrist for lack of faith and a repair job for the Impala. Forgive him if he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

* * *

><p>Dean calls just over half an hour after Sam finds himself, disoriented but otherwise okay, in Bobby's kitchen. 'Dean? Dean, God, you're okay. What'd he say?'<p>

'Uh,' Dean says. 'Not a lot.'

'Dean, _what_?'

'He said he wants to make the world better,' Dean says shortly. 'And, uh, some other stuff that sort of sounded like he was high. Oh, and he fixed the car.'

'What?'

'Yeah. I'm alive. Sort of surprised myself. I'm on the way to you guys. Castiel went…somewhere.'

'Heaven?'

'I don't know.'

'Did he say where?'

'No.'

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. 'Well, didn't you - '

'For Christ's sake, Sam, he's _God _now,' Dean snaps, bitterness laced in his voice. 'I'm not his fucking keeper.'

'No,' Sam says quietly. He wants to ask Dean whether he's actually starting to buy into Castiel's delusions, but doesn't. Jesus, for all he knows Cas can hear them right now. 'Okay.'

* * *

><p>Castiel returns after three days of Sam, Dean and Bobby sitting around the house biting their nails, drinking, and cursing, respectively; Dean at the time is sitting on Bobby's porch, with a beer. 'Dean,' he hears, behind him.<p>

'What - !' Dean spins around to see Castiel standing straightening his cuffs behind him. 'Cas, you - ' He stops talking, collects himself, remembers whom and what he's talking to. 'Where's the coat?'

Castiel looks down at himself, in Jimmy's black suit. 'Oh,' he says. 'Yes. It became a hindrance.'

'You look…' Dean pauses. 'Different.'

'That is only fitting,' Castiel says calmly. 'Where is Bobby? And your brother?'

'Living room,' says Dean, and then so is he. It doesn't feel like the reeling, nauseating motion of when Castiel would teleport him before; it's more like being someplace, and then being someplace else, with no precise moment of transition between the two. The way it used to look, when Cas did it. Dean guesses this is how it feels for angels.

Bobby jumps when he sees them; Sam turns round, and does a good job of not looking scared, although his eyebrows do jump slightly. 'Uh, Cas,' he says. 'Where's the coat?'

'It's not important.'

Bobby clears his throat. 'So, um, what's the occasion?'

Castiel gives him a long stare; Bobby manages to meet the impenetrable ice-blue eyes for just under three seconds before he caves and looks down at his desk. 'I've done it,' he says, with a simple pride in his tone.

'Done what?' Dean says warily.

'The monsters,' Castiel says, smiling. 'They're gone. They're all gone. Every vampire, every shifter, every ghoul on the planet, is dead. I killed them.'

The room fills with a dead silence.

Sam is the one to break it. '_All _of them?' he says haltingly.

'Do you understand, now?' Castiel says, glancing from Sam to Bobby to Dean, his face a picture of pride, like a child who's brought home a new picture from school and is waiting expectantly for it to get stuck on the fridge. 'Do you believe yet? I'm going to make it _good_. I'm going to make the world better. I told you, Dean, but you didn't believe. I did this for you. To save people. Do you believe me now?'

Dean can't speak, doesn't know what to say. He's thinking of Lenore. For a second he wants to ask Castiel if he spared the ones who weren't killing people, the ones who were what they were and tried not to be monsters, but he already knows the answer. Why should Castiel do what Sam and Dean never did?

He's starting to get a faint inkling that a God who learnt everything he knows about humanity from the Winchesters is not really what the world needs.

Castiel is still smiling at him, waiting for thanks. Waiting for praise. Dean feels a wrench of - of all things - pity in his stomach. For this broken parody of his friend, who, after everything he did, after everything Dean did to him, is still trying to make Dean happy.

He smiles back, and says the only thing he can say, and tries not to choke on the words.


End file.
